Friday, February 20, 2009

George Michael is following me

So I'm in London working for a few days, staying at the new "Calatrava Norte" that I'm sharing with Marco at Baron's Court in the few nighttime hours that I'm not at work.

Yesterday evening I planned to meet my old pal David (from my Rockstar days) for an entirely-deserved and much-needed Scotch (plus, he's Scottish) before meeting another old friend Lisa for dinner.

As I descended into the tube at Tottenham Court Road, I heard a familiar saxophone refrain. Yep, as I got closer to the source, I found it was exactly as I'd expected - George Michael's "Careless Whisper" - played by a busker at the cross between the Central and Northern lines. When I got off the train about twenty minutes later at South Kensington station, I was shocked to find that yet another saxophone busker was also playing Careless Whisper.

Indeed I was so astounded that when David arrived a moment later, I barely managed to say hello before I demanded, "What are the odds that you go into the metro at Tottenham Court Road to the sounds of Careless Whisper and come out twenty minutes later at South Ken... TO CARELESS WHISPER???" If David was mildly amused, he didn't really show it, and instead answered in absolute seriousness, "I really couldn't tell you."

And then we were in the pub and that was that.

But now it's nearing midnight a day later and I'm packing my back for my return to Paris tomorrow, and my blackberry buzzes. An SMS from David: "F*cking OMG!! Careless whisper outside the tube!!!"

Sunday, February 15, 2009

The Best Two Years Of My Life

Today marks two years that I've been with Frenchy. The best two years I've ever had, and this is just the beginning! Today we started really officially starting to plan our wedding. The date is set, and so is the location. August 15 in San Diego... 6 months from now.

And since I don't feel like doing any ACTUAL wedding planning work right now, I'll just write about why Frenchy is most awesome guy of all time instead:

1. He gives me massages. All the time. Right now, for example, I just stuck my foot in his face and said, "massssssage!" And he's totally doing it!

2. He looks so hot when he plays the drums.

3. He has a French accent.

4. He makes me crepes.

5. He looks so hot when he's brushing his teeth.

6. He doesn't mind when I say, "Zat iz not my duhg." In fact, I think he's starting to like it.

7. He gives the best hugs ever.

8. He smells good. (Despite aforementioned scoring high on the Frenchness scale.)

9. He is the awesomest dancer. Especially when Michael Jackson comes on.

10. He makes me laugh. Sometimes even on purpose.

11. He doesn't mind when I burp or fart.

12. He looks so hot when he's making coffee.

13. He buys bread at the bakery when I don't feel like it.

14. He drives a motorcycle.

15. He never makes fun of my French. Ever.

16. He looks so cute when he's sleeping.

17. He goes running with me.

18. He comes to watch my soccer games, and I always score a goal when he's there.

19. He is nice to everyone. I don't think he could be mean if he tried.

20. He makes me feel like a supermodel.

21. He drinks with his pinky out.

22. He rolls his r's a little extra when speaking Spanish. Like, Barrrrrrrcelona.

23. He's unbearably good looking in a suit.

24. He's unbearably good looking in jeans.

25. He's unbearably good looking in a swimsuit.

Ok I'd better stop before this gets unbearable for me or anyone else reading this. Love you, Frenchy. Happy anniversaire!!!

Saturday, February 14, 2009

"I'm A Magician!" "I'm a Rabbit!"

I was planning to tell you all about my whirlwind week, wherein I spent 36 hours in New York, another 28 in LA, and then a total of about 60 on airplanes and in airports, but it seems like an awful lot of work.

And this video I just came across thanks to The Bloggess is oh so much funnier. If I have a kid like this, I will know I did SOMETHING right.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Yogurt Galere... er, Galore!

My friend Natalie is visiting us this week from LA, which is great for Frenchy because while Natalie is indeed my friend she was also once, long ago in a galaxy far far away, my au pair. That's the fancy Frenchified version of nanny. (Nevermind that she's not French but from Michigan.) And that means she has a lot of stories about little lovely Noelliebellie as a child. Because of course I was an angel!

Anyway this evening after a long day of work I thought it might be nice to bake these little mini muffins I've been swearing I know how to make for the whole two years Frenchy and I have been together. We even bought the mini muffin pans in Philadelphia last April. And still, no mini muffins. Poor Frenchy. I'm such a cruel, heartless person.

Until today. So we hit the first roadblock when I looked at the recipe and saw "sour cream." Hmm. I've already skipped the baking soda in three batches of chocolate chip cookies because French people have never heard of such a thing, but I didn't think 3/4 of a cup of sour cream could just be ignored. A google search for "sour cream french" led me to find the plaintive plea for help of another lost American trying to cook something using sour cream in France. Bingo. "Crème fraîche épaisse." Not to be confused with crème fraîche liquide, which would cause all sorts of problems....

Then I thought aloud, where would one FIND crème fraîche épaisse in the grocery store? And Natalie, despite being a teacher of small children, responded almost as if I were retarded, "In the dairy section. DUH!"

DUH is right. Hmph! What Natalie didn't know is that dairy sections in France are typically spread throughout the store. This is clearly for two main reasons. 1) To confuse Americans looking for crème fraîche épaisse. (And who can pronounce that, anyway? Geez.) And 2) Because every French grocery store stocks a minimum of 1,264 different types of yogurt. And I'm sorry, but that just ain't gonna fit in a "dairy section."

As Natalie looked rather incredulous, I dragged her along on this crème fraîche épaisse shopping expedition. Quite incredibly, it was the first thing we found. Actually, SHE found it, when it practically jumped off the shelf at us. By the way, it was next to the pasta. And nowhere near the yogurt, as one might think.

Which, incidentally, takes up three separate DIVIDED AREAS of this particular grocery store. Three walls full of just yogurt. Every flavor imaginable, every brand on earth, with and without added benefits and nutrients, with suger and sugar-free, every possible size and color combination.... After the third yogurt area, Nat looked at me and said, very seriously, "Guess we should get some yogurt."

Oh, and the muffins were AWESOME.